"Come here."
The man scooped a bowl of porridge from a stone pot and handed it to Yan Xiao'er. The bowl itself looked like the bottom half of a severed clay jar.
She took it and turned it over in her hands. The porridge contained soft, white chunks of something unrecognizable, and the edges of the jar had been smoothed down with unusual precision. The bottom and sides were wrapped in thick layers of cotton cloth, so it wasn't hot to the touch.
"Are you Yu Changmian?"
Yan Xiao'er was hungry enough to have finished the entire bowl at once, but although the jar wasn't hot, the wisps of steam rising from it temporarily held back her craving.
While waiting for the porridge to cool, she found that the man had no interest in small talk, so she was forced to make conversation herself.
However, the three words "Yu Changmian" elicited no response.
The man simply ignored the heat of the porridge, slowly drinking it mouthful by mouthful with a wooden spoon.
His face was so similar; there was no way she could have mistaken him.
*He must be deaf,* Yan Xiao'er thought.
She picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it hard against the cave wall.
The man turned his head and gave her a glance, his expression clearly saying, "Don't go looking for trouble."
Yan Xiao'er noticed that while his features were identical to Yu Changqing’s, his temperament was entirely different—untouched by the dust of the mortal world. Though his hair was streaked with grey, his expression was that of a child, devoid of any pretense or artifice.
*So he isn't deaf,* Yan Xiao'er realized, feeling relieved.
The hunger returned, and she stopped trying to talk, instead slurping down the porridge. The white morsels tasted like water chestnuts.
Where would he get water chestnuts? Yan Xiao'er didn't ponder it too deeply; she only felt that one bowl wasn't enough. She held out the jar, signaling for another serving.
Yu Changmian, who had been drinking his porridge in a slow, measured way, noticeably frowned at the empty bowl. He set down his own half-finished portion and ladled a large bowlful for her.
Yan Xiao'er suddenly realized where the disconnect was, and felt a flush of embarrassment. "Thank you," she muttered.
It was all because Yu Changmian looked so much like Yu Changqing, and Yu Changqing had always pampered her, taking care of everything so meticulously, that for a moment, she had forgotten this man was merely a stranger with a familiar face.
With the first bowl acting as a buffer, she ate this one less ravenously.
As she ate, she glanced around, watching as Yu Changmian picked up a stone to extinguish the fire under the cooking pot.
They were in a cave beside the Tianjian Abyss. Nearby, a small stream bubbled, and sunlight poured through a fissure in the rock, making the water shimmer. It was likely around noon.
Yan Xiao'er remembered that it had been dark when she was swept into the well by the tangle of weeds; she had evidently slept through the entire night.
Yu Changmian spoke in a hoarse voice: "Go—wash—the bowls." He pointed toward the stream.
The word "wash" was so alien to her life; her hands had never touched a speck of grease. Yet, she understood the principle that one who eats another's food must yield to their demands.
Yan Xiao'er instinctively went to roll up her sleeves, only then noticing that she was wearing a thin military robe over her dress. She had been too hungry upon waking to notice her own attire.
*He must have put it on me,* she thought, her face burning. She didn't dare ask, so she picked up the bowl and the half-jar and headed toward the stream.
"This—one, too."
Yu Changmian pointed to the cooking pot.
"Alright, alright! I only have two hands. I'll come back for it."
Yan Xiao'er walked to the stream, fuming. Should this not be a place where he lived entirely alone? Why was he so naturally bossy?
She set the bowl and jar by the water. Just as she turned to head back, she suddenly wanted to see what she looked like now—she wondered if she looked ridiculous in this robe.
She leaned toward the stream. The water was not particularly clear—the bottom was muddy, and leaves and twigs floated on the surface—but it was enough to reflect a face.
"Ah! Ah!"
Yu Changmian didn't even react to the scream that pierced the air. He merely watched the bowl and jar by the stream with concern.
"My… my face… what is going on?"
Yan Xiao'er scrambled to throw a rock into the water, watching as the ripples calmed once more.
It wasn't blindness, and it wasn't a hallucination. The reflection staring back at her from the moving water was undeniably the face of Empress Cheng.
She rushed back to Yu Changmian and pointed at him. "You! What did you do to my face!"
She still remembered the stinging sensation on her skin last time, when Yu Changmian had rubbed something on her face. She had thought it was medicine to treat her wounds—how could it have been a new face?
"I—told you. You—were poisoned." Yu Changmian didn't seem to want to engage with her; he picked up the cooking pot and walked slowly toward the stream.
"You mean you cured my poison, but my face—I can't go on living with the face of my enemy!"
Yan Xiao'er was on the verge of a breakdown.
"No—wonder. Your—eyes—were—full—of—her." Yu Changmian crouched by the stream, washing the bowls without looking back.
Holding her splitting head, Yan Xiao'er recalled the nightmare she had while unconscious—a dream filled with the face of that snake-hearted beauty who had appeared everywhere after the curtains were set ablaze.
Watching Yu Changmian wash the dishes, his actions holding a mundane charm under the sunlight, Yan Xiao'er slowly calmed down.
She was not a person prone to agitation by nature. Deep in the Tianjian Abyss, she had no idea how long she would even survive; what use was there in agonizing over her appearance?
She even couldn't help but wonder: if she had hated Yu Changqing, would this twin brother have "molded" her into his likeness as well?
At the thought, she let out a sudden, involuntary snicker, though she immediately felt it was inappropriate.
"Hey, Yu Changmian. Since you’ve ruined my face, treat it as an I.O.U. I don't have many days to live, but don't you forget it. If you’re ever lucky enough to get out of here, remember to visit my grandmother for me."
Yu Changmian, who had been calm throughout, actually walked over. Changing his usual slow, halting cadence, he said firmly, "The people I cure—do not die."
"Yu Changmian, do you know that your brother is trying to kill me, yet you saved me? Aren't you twins supposed to be of one mind?"
"Bro—ther?" Yu Changmian’s expression was unexpectedly vacant.
Now it was Yan Xiao'er's turn to be surprised.
"You don't know him? How long have you lived here?"
Yu Changmian returned to his disengaged state, beginning to organize items along the cave wall.
Yan Xiao'er recalled the message her grandmother had sent via a proxy in prison:
"Xiao'er, if you are truly a descendant of the Wulian Clan, you must kill someone as a sacrifice within three months of coming of age, or else you yourself will die."
"And if I kill someone within that time?"
"Then the possibility of immortality will arise. Even if the flesh one day perishes, the soul remains undying."
"What about my grandfather and father?"
"Their souls never returned. Perhaps the burden of the lineage did not fall upon their shoulders."
"So, you want me to kill someone without even being sure if I am of the Wulian Clan?"
"Yes. I have come specifically for you to kill." The visitor’s eyes were resolute.
Yan Xiao'er had stepped back. "What?!"
"Your grandmother said you were in prison with no way to kill, so having me enter is your only chance."
Kill a stranger she had never met? Could she just kill someone because they were masked and faceless?
She, who had always loved flowers and plants, had never even snapped a single bloom; her maids and servants only ever brought her fallen petals to decorate her room.
Ask her delicate, bloodless hands to kill? She might as well be sent to the execution ground immediately.
The person who had waited by the prison cell until the hour of the execution had watched Yan Xiao'er be led away, never having seen her make a move.